


(on hold)

by Darkhymns



Series: Before the Eighth Soul [2]
Category: Undertale (Video Game)
Genre: Alternate Timelines, Angst, F/M, Friendship, Hurt/Comfort, Pre-Canon, long conversations
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-02-08
Updated: 2016-02-08
Packaged: 2018-05-19 00:51:37
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 10,668
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5949993
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Darkhymns/pseuds/Darkhymns
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>During one of Flowey's murder runs, Sans finds himself at the Ruins door. Maybe this time, he can do something good for once. Or is that just wishful thinking? (Who knows?)</p>
            </blockquote>





	(on hold)

**Author's Note:**

> Takes place during my other story, [reverse psychology.](http://archiveofourown.org/works/5463212/chapters/12629204) Not necessary to read (though if you want, [chapter 5](http://archiveofourown.org/works/5463212/chapters/13076797) is the most relevant for this story). The necessary info; Flowey is killing monsters, and is heading for Toriel next, and both him and Sans had previously encountered each other before.
> 
>  
> 
> ~~Apologies for how long this is I never meant to let it get this far~~

_His shortcut all but practically shoves him back to Snowdin. A little ungraceful hop here and there, but Sans regains his balance quickly enough, eye sockets blinking at the snowflakes drizzling past him. The air was chillier, or he guesses so. Having no skin tended to make such assumptions difficult, but by the way the frost already rimes across his teeth, he figures that the environmental conditions were a bit abnormal today._

_He lowers his head, his hood engulfing the top part of his skull as a flimsy shield. He flexes his finger bones, hidden inside gloves, which were hidden inside his coat pockets. Its tiring, keeping tabs on the flower, especially with how it moves so slow, dragging out this day by every possible inch. But he's not at his best. He only just came across Undyne's ashes in Waterfall, then wasted time by spreading her remains over the various weapons in her home. Something that Papyrus would have wanted. No chance telling his bro that it was all ultimately useless. When a power-crazed little weed had unlimited control over time and space, performing funeral rites seemed to… lack a certain weight._

_Another jump, and he is now in front of Grillby's. He's unsure of what he needs to do next. The usual residents around the area are nowhere to be found. Oh. Guess he's made another miscalculation. Cool. He thinks about calling his brother. A hand brushes against the phone in his pocket, but doesn't lift it to his face. And now he's just standing there. Standing there, in the snow, in the cold and-_

" _oh, hey, grillby." He turns to the bartender. The door had opened, showing the fire-made monster, his presence already melting the outside frost. "ghost town today, huh?"_

_Grillby doesn't laugh. Neither does Sans. The bartender hands over a letter._

_Sans hesitates. "my tab?"_

_A brief shake of the head. He holds out the letter farther. It's neatly folded, with no burnt singes on its sides. Grillby always performed little miracles like that._

**Your brother left you this.**

_Sans doesn't reach for it. Not yet. It takes an impatient crackle of flame before he wills his limbs to work._

_The letter is suddenly in his hands. Sans can't think of much else to say besides, "thanks."_

_He stands there, rooted in the snow, long after Grillby has already up and evacuated. The snow builds on his shoulders. Heavy._

_He reads the note way too fast._

* * *

It was cold today in the Ruins. Toriel first assumed that Snowdin might have been the cause. Perhaps the breeze coming in from the snow must have drafted through the Ruins' door quite strongly, settling a chill into the stonework. Usually her home was warmer in temperature, supported by her fire magic when heating up her food, or stirring up the fireplace. Seated at her chair, she'd had to rub her paws together, even summoning a little flame to hover near her, and warm her chill fur. The draft didn't last, eventually giving way to the home's usual warmth, allowing her to set her magic at ease.

It was very peculiar, but she couldn't dwell on it for long. It was already time to chat with her friend behind the door. Because even after everything, she was never really one for premonitions.

She didn't rush. She carefully lowered the fireplace's flames to a minimum size, grasped a shawl to whether frost that had been steadily building up in the lower parts of the basement, as well as made a quick trip to her bedroom to get her diary.

"Why couldn't the skeleton go to the dance?" she read to herself cheerfully, perusing through the pages. She had stayed up nearly half the night coming up with new jokes, having not felt such a fit of inspiration in quite a few years. "Because he had no body to go with!"

She was barely able to suppress her giggles as she arrived. She sat down comfortably, arranging her long dress over her knees. "Yes, I'm sure he'd like that one…"

She heard familiar shuffling from behind the door.

"oh? are my ears burning?" A low chuckle. "or they would be if i had any."

Toriel gasped in both humor and pleasant surprise. "You're here early."

"yeah, just couldn't keep myself away..." he trailed off. She heard him settling in what she assumed must be a deep bank of snow. She always wondered if the cold ever bothered him, but he never seemed to mention it. He must have had more body heat then she did, despite her fur.

"actually, i got a new one for ya."

"That is wonderful. I'd love to hear it." She kept her diary near, preparing herself for her own joke.

After a moment, longer than usual, she heard, "knock, knock," followed by actual knocking.

"Who's there?"

Another moment. The voice became softer. "sans."

Toriel tried to perceive where this joke was heading, but couldn't really understand what punchline would come after such a name. That, and the sudden seriousness he talked with, made her reply in as just a soft tone.

"Sans who?"

An even longer silence. The breeze picked up, blowing a sharp wind through the door's cracks. It even made the torches by her flicker slightly.

Then finally, "can i come in?"

Toriel remained silent. So did Sans. That was his name. She had always wanted to ask, but had been fearful. She had gotten so used to this shut door, its constant reassuring her that past regrets couldn't get through. Opening it had never led to anything good, as each of her failures would remind her.

The crunch of snow pulled her out of her reverie. She stood up.

"Just a moment," she said, controlling her tremors. Wrapping her shawl even tighter, she pulled open the great stone doors, her strength making it easy.

Standing on a flat plane of white was a skeleton monster. Grinning teeth were as white as the rest of his face. The only splotches of color were his blue hooded sweatshirt, which he wore loosely over his bones, and dark shorts that just barely reached past his shins. His eye sockets were pitch black except for twin spots of white that served for his pupils, floating in empty space.

That, and he had a snow poff atop his head.

"what's up?" he greeted, and the pure casualness he showed, from body language to his voice, made her laugh. Not loudly, but enough for her sides to ache. Sans laughed too, though quieter, as he brushed away the snow from his skull.

"It is-" she hiccupped, leftover from her giggles. She smiled down at the stout skeleton. "It is nice to finally meet you, Sans. I'm sorry I've never invited you inside the Ruins before."

"hey, why _ruin_ a nice thing?" Sans shrugged. Listening to him without a solid barrier in her way, she could hear how smooth his voice was, as soft as a blanket. She could easily imagine why his brother, Papyrus, made him read bedtime stories; his tone was very well-suited for it.

"I am Toriel, by the way," she said politely.

Sans seemed to consider what she said, his gaze thoughtful. "that's nice. think i'll keep it. torry-el."

She laughed at the stretching of her name. "Oh, there's nothing so special about it, really."

"dunno about that." Sans turned his head around slightly, back to gaze at the long and narrow path ahead. Something changed in his expression then, shown in the shape of his eyes. But he cleaned it up when he faced her again. "sorry to rush this but, um, is it okay if I…"

"Oh! I apologize." She pushed open the doors wider, clearing the way for him. He stepped in, slippers trailing wet snow with each step. What a strange choice of footwear for the cold, yet she found it oddly endearing.

He stood out far more in the dark corridor then he did outside. The whiteness of his bones contrasted sharply with the deep bluish-black of the walls, against the now sealed shut doors. The flame of the torches made his eyes shine just a little brighter, just a little more alive.

He turned to her, which was when Toriel realized she had been staring. She turned her diary over in her hands, giving them something to do.

"so i'm guessing you like hanging out in dark spooky tunnels?" Sans asked with his infectious smile. He rocked back on his heels playfully. "can't say i blame ya."

She giggled lightly. "The spookiness can be strangely relaxing once you get used to it." She walked forward, prompting her friend to follow. "Especially with the help of a kind voice."

"aw, lady, ya gonna make me blush through these cheekbones." No blush was actually forthcoming, but the sentiment was appreciated. She laughed again, and he joined her, his low baritone mixing well with her slightly higher pitch.

"You know, you actually decided to visit me at a good time. I just made some butterscotch pie. A small one, but it should be enough for the both of us."

"hmm, sounds familiar." He shifted his expression, making it seem like he was raising an eyebrow despite his lack of such a feature. "that recipe you gave me earlier?"

"Almost. The one I gave you was the cinnamon variety… Oh! I forgot to ask, how did your baking go? Did it turn out okay?"

Sans smiled widely, easily matching her long strides despite his short legs. "yeah, it turned out pretty good. i wanted to share some with my bro-" and though he kept his pace, his voice halted suddenly, the eyes flickering inside the sockets like a faulty lightbulb.

That was when Toriel knew for certain. The unease she had felt before - it had not simply been her imagination. "Sans? Is something wrong?"

Sans didn't look at her. He looked ahead instead, most likely seeing the stairs that led upstairs to her home. Hands stayed hidden in his coat pockets. "heh, kind of an understatement there."

He stopped walking then. Toriel did so as well, unconsciously tugging in her shawl tighter. She waited patiently for him to speak. If there was one thing she learned while staying in the ruins, it was the art of patience.

"though free food sounds really tempting, i think we might need to take a raincheck on that." He faced her again, eye sockets upturned to wide crescents. Worried, apologetic even. "there's a reason i asked to come inside today."

She fidgeted with her diary once more. "This sounds very important."

"heh, yeah…"

"Well, then. No time to waste." She gently patted his shoulder, slightly nudging him towards the stairs. "I think it would be better to have this conversation where it's a bit warmer, don't you agree?"

He blinked at her, like a lost wanderer who had just come upon a bright light. A small chuckle escaped his throat. "yeah, that sounds fine."

Despite her curiosity, she walked at an even pace, and kept her brow free of any troubling emotions. Though it had been years, her time as a monarch was not easily forgotten. Donning a mask of calmness, and employing her diplomatic tone was once enough to dispel any worry within a room. She learned that people appreciated one who could take matters in such a way – it made the troubling subject at hand that much easier to deal with.

Sans didn't give any more hints as to what was on his mind. Having only just met, she couldn't fluently read the expressions that directed his eye movements, or what made him roll his shoulders just a bit, as if forever having a crink in his bony neck. His slippers padded quietly against the staircase, moving like a silent thief. He seemed to slink right into her shadow as they emerged into the warm light of the front area of the house.

He stared a bit at the walls, at the long picture hanging above, at the perfectly placed stand at the top of the stairs, filled with books and magazines that were already quite out of fashion. "huh."

Toriel couldn't help but feel a slight wave of embarrassment as she guided him to the living room. She removed her shawl, draping it on one of the wooden chairs at her table. She set her diary down as well. The fireplace already heated her chilled fur. "I am sorry it is not much to look at. I haven't really had any visitors in a while."

Sans turned to her, confused. "oh? no, you don't need to worry about that." He edged a gaze to the fireplace, his grin stretching. "it's just warmer than i thought it'd be. it's nice."

Toriel took another moment to look at him. Now in the comfortable atmosphere, she could really see just how he matched up to her, reaching past her waist, but never making it to her shoulder. The blue jacket he wore covered him up well, with her unable to see any peek of bones that wasn't his face or neck. Slippers that were drenched from the snow were already drying up from the fire. They were as fluffy as her carpet, and nearly disappeared within its depths.

"Please, have a seat anywhere you'd like. Are you sure you won't have time for pie?"

Sans blinked in consideration. Then he shrugged. "probably not." He blinked again.

Something in that expression was suddenly very familiar. It clutched her heart in worry.

"Sans, you look tired," she stated.

His only affirmation to that was a lazy shrug. " _dead_ tired, heh."

She flicked a gaze to the fireplace, then back to him. "Then I have to insist that you get off your feet. Go take your seat, and then I can make something to drink." She decided to be forward, and not so subtly steer him towards her armchair. "As my first guest in so long, I must be as hospitable as possible."

Sans' eye sockets widened as she gently pushed him to the chair. "uh, nah, don't worry. it'd just go right through me. heh, get it?" But his smile was less than jovial. She could see that now. As she eased him to sit down, he chuckled again in nervousness. "just, uh, we really don't have much time…"

She smiled down at him. "It is not that I do not believe you. It is just that whatever you need to tell me… you are still trying to find the best way to say it. Certainly, there must be some time available for you to gather your thoughts?"

Sans clearly seemed to be in conflict. "toriel, um… i'm not exactly-"

"At least, the amount of time to heat you some nice, warm milk? It shouldn't take long at all."

From this, Sans lowered his skull slightly. Fingers tapped against the armrest. "heh, you sure know how to treat a guy." He shifted, feet swinging slightly above the floor. "uh, though i don't want to have to take your spot."

"Now, now. It's perfectly alright. I just feel like being… _chair_ -itable today!"

One moment, Sans was staring. The next, he let out a sound that was like a choke, sides shaking, eye sockets shut tight. The laugh rolled out of him slowly but surely. "okay, okay," he said between breaths. "i really should have seen that one coming."

Toriel laughed along with him, lips curled back from her muzzle to show off a fang-toothed smile. And he was smiling, too. A real one this time.

"To think an old lady like me could catch you off guard!"

"hey, i'll get you back good. i'm not going to take this sitting down." Sans then plopped himself further into the armchair, looking so ludicrously small against its size, his jacket puffing up about him like a marshmallow. Toriel covered her mouth with both hands, giggling hysterically.

"My goodness! To be so funny and adorable all at once!"

Sans linked his arms behind his head. "yeah, some skeletons just have it all."

Losing even more of her breath, she decided it was best for her to go to the kitchen just then, Sans' smile etched in her mind. She was finally able to regain her composure as she prepared a teapot of the milk that a neighbor had kindly given her (one of the few that didn't run away from her at first sight.) A quick whiff of her magic, and soft flames circled around its base. She hummed absent-mindedly as the milk heated up, her heart feeling lighter than it had in years.

She hoped she could help with whatever that was bothering Sans. She was glad that he had more courage out of them both to change tradition. Perhaps they could share visits like this more often? The teapot whistled, breaking out of her reveries. Ah, first she must care for the matter at hand before she started daydreaming about the future.

Cradling a tall glass of milk, she wandered back into the living room. She was surprised slightly when she saw him not at her chair, but standing in front of her bookcase. Much of those bindings were coated with dust. She had read them all so many times during her stay here, that even the comforting familiarity of such words had started to grow stale. She saw him reach out to take one, turning it to the front. He shifted his gaze to her after hearing her footsteps creak on the wooden floor.

"hey, uh, what's this?" He held up the book. "looks familiar."

"It's a fairy tale book." She went to him, careful not to spill a drop from her glass. "One of my most favorites when I was a young one. Not entirely the same as your brother's favorite book, but I think its charm has held up over time."

Sans examined its cover carefully. Eye sockets narrowed just a tad. "is this about snail princes and princesses?" He pointed a finger bone at the illustration, which showed exactly that. Snails in corresponding outfits to detail that one was a princely slug, and one was a feminine damsel of slime.

Toriel smoothed away a fur strand against her head. "Haha, yes… I suppose my fascination for snails started early." She smiled. "Would you like to borrow it sometime? I've practically have it memorized by now."

Sans looked at the book with an expression she couldn't really name. He put the book back in its place on the shelf. "s'okay. i already have a copy."

Seeing his hands free, she held out the glass. "Here. Told you it would be quick."

"never doubted ya, tori." He took a sip, and she was glad he was preoccupied with that. She hadn't heard that nickname in much too long and wasn't sure if that showed on her face. She felt better about it then she expected.

He didn't finish the glass, instead staring at its contents for a moment. He seemed to be struggling.

She caught his attention with a gentle, "Sans?"

One finger tapped the glass with an even clinking sound. His other hand had retreated to his pocket. "just musing a bit. sorry."

"It's alright. Take your time."

"no." Sans raised his eyes. "got too comfortable. so now we don't have much of that left."

A vague sense of familiar dread fell over her. "If you are in need of any help, please know that I will do all in my power to provide assistance."

Sans still smiled, but the corners of his eye sockets crinkled, like malleable clay.

"heh… would it be weird if i say i'm here to help you?"

That had not been anticipated. "Oh. Um, could you perhaps explain some more? I am not sure I understand."

"just…" He held the glass awkwardly. She took it from him, noting how his bones shook slightly. She placed it quickly on the table before going back to him. "usually my improv's a little better than this. not at the top of my game today."

"That is quite alright. Sometimes we have off days." She smiled gently. "Just say what's on your mind. Do not worry about finesse. We are friends, are we not?"

Sans scuffed a heel against the floor. "alright… here goes nothing." He winked, half-tired, half-hopeful. "you need to get out of here."

Toriel opened her mouth, closed it, then tried again. "What-"

"someone else is coming over here for a visit. someone not very nice." He scratched the back of his skull. "they've already hurt a lot of people, too. and they don't want to stop. they're very, uh…determined about it." He looked at her, his grin rigid on his face. "you don't believe me."

"No, that is not it. I am just… confused. Why would they want to hurt me? And, pardon me for being a bit intruding but, how do you know they want to hurt me in the first place?"

Sans shrugged. "a hunch? heh…" He looked away again. "more than a hunch. uh…" He chuckled slightly. "yeah, i really didn't want to make our first meeting so grim and stuff. or have it this weird."

He was starting to ramble. She laid a hand on his arm, hazarding a careful guess. "Is… whatever is happening, and please pardon my rudeness… but does it have anything to do with your brother?"

He didn't answer. His eye sockets went dark, empty, engulfing all light. A disquieting expression, but she persevered. "Sans, is your brother hurt?"

The pupils stayed hidden. His voice was very quiet. "yeah." She felt the bones in his jacket sleeve tense up. "we need to leave."

"I am trained in the ways of magic. I have defended myself plenty in the past."

"i figured. but this thing's pretty sneaky and… yeah, i know i sound nuts." The light came back to his eyes. "if you're set on staying, then i won't make you go. i just… _highly_ stress it though. and uh, it sounds like a bad joke that a skeleton's trying to make you leave your house to go into the unknown, i know that for sure."

"That is not the reason why I am being so hesitant."

Sans looked at her questioningly.

"It is only that, for many years, I have been taking care of some flowers. They're a bit further off the ruins. If I leave, who will take care of them? The monsters that live here rarely go near it. And, I'm ashamed to say that most are afraid of me so I cannot just go ask them. Besides speaking with you, taking care of those flowers has been a part of my routine."

She gripped his arm one final time before releasing it, still feeling his stare. "I am sorry. These are just an old lady's worries. My life in danger, and yet I fret over some plants."

"nah, that's fine." Sans smiled at her. "i get it. it's hard to let go of the usual."

She thought about telling him more. Her mouth started to form the words to say it- about those usual things that she hoped for and despaired. Instead, she said, "What would you do if I insisted on staying?"

"welp, i guess i'd have to stay. otherwise i'd just worry." He gave her another lazy wink. "and i know i may seem like the chillest guy around, but these tired bones have been known to _shiver_ every once in a while."

The joke was stealthy, sneaking into her brain before she was even aware of its presence. Upon discovery, she laughed sharply, hiccupping on the last, few notes. Sans gave a sly chuckle.

"I certainly would not want you _frozen_ in fear. I am just unused to having such surprises." Something set within her, briefly shocking her senses, but the sight of her friend seemed to make it all so easy. "Though I have only known you as a voice, I cannot say I don't trust you. If you say I must leave, then I will listen. I have never doubted you before. I do not see any reason to start now."

Sans ducked his head slightly into the collar of his jacket. If she was correct, he also seemed to be sweating just slightly. "aw, tori. now i'm really going to blush." And though he smiled, though he looked at her fondly, their thoughts matching up with one another, there would be that quick glance behind him, to those stairs, perhaps to those great doors that had sealed her in for so long.

"Will I have time to bring some things with me?" she asked, deciding to be brisk.

Sans angled his head slightly. Was he listening for something? "yeah, maybe a few. or a lot? i don't wanna have to dictate ya on what ya need."

For a large monster, Toriel could move fast when required. She implored Sans to wait for her once more as she retreated to the rooms down the hallway. There were only small things she wanted; the belongings of her dear children, such as the simple drawing of the flower, and a dusty stuffed animal. She didn't go to her own room, needing nothing there to be reminded of.

Carrying her small treasure bundle, she went back, and found Sans meeting at the top of the stairs. In his right hand was her diary, which he held out to her.

"Ah, thank you." She took the item back gratefully.

Sans eyed what she carried. "nothing else?"

"I believe I have all that matters. If we were in less of a rush, I might have packed some extra socks…"

"no prob. i can just give you some of mine. all brand new even. well, some of it at least."

"I will be the judge of that then!" She humored, hefting all she needed in her arms. "Should we be off then?"

"yeah. i actually know a shortcut, so we can split out of here quick."

"Oh my. A shortcut in the ruins? I must admit, I have traversed through these corridors and puzzles many times, and I have never come upon them."

"heh, i'm not one to brag, but i'm just too good at finding my way around. us sentries know all the secret routes in the underground. want me to show ya?"

"By all means!"

"awesome. just, uh," then Sans looked unsure again, eyes drifting to the walls before going back to her. "not to be creepy, but, can i take your hand?"

The offer caught her off guard. Eyes shifted to the hand extended out to her. Each finger bone laid out in detail, held together by invisible filaments of magic, looking nearly so frail.

Sans cleared his throat nervously. "ah, yeah, i know this is kinda sudden." He tapped the toe of his slipper against the floor, methodically. "huh, though i guess i'm just doing everything so sudden today, aren't i?"

Toriel saw her opening.

"Then we should not jinx it then." She took his hand with her right, her paw engulfing his almost entirely. She felt the texture of his bones, ridged, and laced with cold. "Lead the way, Sans."

Sans' eyes lit up slightly. He reflexively gripped her hand back, but not tightly. She could have easily pulled free if she wanted, she noticed. He allowed her that choice.

"heh, alright. just get ready. my shortcuts are, uh, a little unorthodox."

Before she could even ask, Sans had already taken her through. Expecting nothing more than for him to lead her back out the Ruins door, she instead felt her mind compress. A quick play of shadows and colors that rushed past her, of a vast network of tunnels that ran all over the Underground, but invisible in its form, with their own reality heavily questioned.

Through it all, she felt her fingers interlace with Sans'. She held him tight, needing that solidarity, that heightened difference that was not fur or skin. She felt like she must have been off her feet, her heart lurching from heights she couldn't even imagine. If not for Sans' hold, she felt she would have fallen straight down into empty space.

And then she was home.

Toriel blinked rapidly, looking around at the throne room. It took her quite a few moments to understand that was where she was. The throne room housed a multicolored glass ceiling up above, with a garden full of golden flowers that Asgore would tend to for many hours of the day. How often had she needed to call out to him, to remind him that an important royal matter was at hand, and that really, wouldn't it make more sense to hire a gardener? But then she would remember how much he enjoyed this, as she enjoyed baking new variants of pie every night, and the great throne seated before her was such a strong reminder, along with the other pushed to the wall, hidden away with a white sheet.

"Why are we here?" she asked softly. She turned, and Sans was standing far off, knee-deep in that grove of bright flowers. She had wandered away from him in her shock, relinquishing both their hands. His own went back to the safe confines of his pocket.

"this is the farthest i can take you." His tone was very low, gravely. "and… it's probably not even the best place for it. but people are gonna need someone to look up to after all is said and done."

"Please, I don't… I truly don't understand." The seriousness in his voice went through her like ice. "Sans?"

The skeleton, with a hopeless little shrug, gestured toward the center of the garden, near where he stood. Her feet padded among the soft grass, following his gaze.

There was a large mantle on the ground. Fit for a mountainous figure, a dark and supple purple that seemed faded in the sunlight's reflection that streamed from above. Along with such trappings were a golden crown, a dark, red trident, wickedly-pronged, too heavy to lift for most monsters, she knew, and beside it all –

"Dust?" She gasped slightly, at the heap of gray powder that lay next to Asgore's possessions. There was not much wind, but whatever there was had been able to sift the pile, diminishing what was left of the king by merely half an inch. "O-oh, no, it can't… Asgore, how…"

She was not sure if she was crying, only that it was suddenly difficult to breathe. She kept firm hold of the few belongings she carried, but it was Sans' hand that kept her grounded, steadying her with a gentle, slightly pointed hand by grasping her arm.

"sorry. i should've told you earlier." His voice was barely audible. "i just wasn't sure how."

Toriel shook from heavy breathing, her own heart feeling like it would reach up through her chest and strangle her mercilessly. Perhaps it was her surroundings, these reminders of royal gatherings and calm demeanors, because soon she was able to keep her sobs down. They were not restricted, simply tempered to an agreeable level, enough for her to speak, for there only to be moisture in her eyes instead of full-out tears.

"Who did this?" She looked to Sans in desperation. "Do you know?"

Eye sockets lowered to the ground. "i have a theory. but that's all it is." Unsaid words hovered between them, but Sans wouldn't fill it. He seemed to do anything to keep it as blank as he could. "i can help you gather-"

In a show of excessive forwardness, she pulled the skeleton into a sudden, tight embrace. She could feel Sans straighten up in her grasp, his voice cut short as one arm encircled around his shoulders, the other still holding her belongings. It was enough to nearly make her weep again, but she tried not to let her own emotions roil over her any more than necessary.

Sans was clearly, utterly confused. "uh, tori?"

"This is very selfish of me, I know. Perhaps I just need a friend to be near. But, also, I think you need one as well? That is why you brought me here, is it not? Whoever killed Asgore has also hurt one close to you."

He said nothing, standing in place, hands staying in his pockets. And then, "so you really see right through me, huh?"

"It is not so difficult." The blunts of her claws slightly pressed against the cotton material of his coat. "You are a skeleton, after all."

"heh…" Sans took out one hand to pat her wrist. Hesitant, a little unsure. It was not something that he was used to. She understood. She stepped back, releasing him in one swift motion.

Sans cleared his throat, placing the flat of his hand against his forehead. He blinked as his fingers brushed against something. "oh, uh, ew. am i sliming again?"

Toriel felt a smile tug at her features. "Sans, I believe you are only sweating."

"is that what it's called?" He both winked and shrugged. "i'm no expert on these things. sorry if i got some on ya."

"That is fine, as long as you didn't mind getting some of my tears."

Sans edged up an invisible eyebrow. "so maybe that's it. i'm not covered in slime, but in your tears. gotta say, you owe me, tori, for being your personal handkerchief." He wiped away again some of the beading perspiration from his skull. "for all i know, it could be contagious. i'm already soaked to the bone."

Then she laughed right in the midst of her free –falling tears, hastily wiping them from her face. It was not for very long, her aching heart still tempered by the knowledge of a deceased husband, despite their many years apart. But she appreciated this. She appreciated Sans for trying to make her feel lighter in the midst all their shared pain.

They didn't speak much afterwards, instead performing the careful task of gathering up Asgore's dust. She had been able to retrieve an urn from her old home, amazed at how she had walked through these rooms and hallways with ease, finding objects exactly where she expected them. Then again, it was designed just like her home back in the Ruins, a faithful copy of its interior, and Asgore had apparently not changed much in the layout throughout his years alone. She could easily imagine that he did not spend much time inside, not wanting to disturb a vase of flowers from its place. Perhaps he only felt at his element out here, kneeling outside in the garden where their son had perished, where the body of their adopted child had lay still among the scent of pollen.

She could not deny that she had despised Asgore and what he had become, with the blood of young children soaking his hands. But knowing that someone had murdered him here, among his flowers – no one deserved to have their life taken away, including Asgore.

After carefully depositing every speck of dust, she closed shut the lid. She held the urn tight, her paws obscuring the Delta rune's design on its front. The stuffed toy and drawing she had brought were now inside the house, placed on the beds of the children's room, respectively. She took in a deep breath, trying to reach out for Asgore's magic, much like her own, perhaps imprinted in the air of the throne room. But she found no trace. His soul was long shattered, taking that away.

She looked to find Sans handling Asgore's accoutrements. He was stronger than he looked. He had carried the King's heavy armor easily enough, placing it on the seat of the throne along with his crown. The trident weapon was leaned against its side, and she remarked how the skeleton had cradled the object like a giant fire poker, unsure of the best way to hold it, but doing so amiably. She wondered if he could perhaps have used his magic to cross the distance without needing to walk, with one of those strange shortcuts.

But Sans continued as he did, slippers moving from the golden tiles to the golden flowers, careful to not step on any of the actual plants. He knelt down to pick up the great purple mantle from the ground, and proceeded to fold it neatly into one square piece.

"Thank you," she said, walking up to him.

He turned to her. His grin was easy, less forced. "not a problem, t." The white lights of his eyes swerved to the urn she held. "how're you holding up?"

"As much as I can." The cool porcelain surface of the urn slid against her fur. "Sans, will you answer one question of mine?"

"maybe? i'm not very reliable for that kind of thing."

"Do not worry. Only…" She hesitated, but this was something that needed to at least be addressed. "How did you know that I was the Queen? I don't remember mentioning my past to you. Or… did you know Asgore?"

"i didn't know him, no." Sans finished his folding, the mantle now as small as a TV dinner tray. He handed it to her, and she took it gratefully. "as for your royal background, i, uh, had a hunch. i have a lot of those."

She raised an eyebrow. "So you cannot tell me."

Sans truthfully did look sorry for what he had to offer her, which was a husk of half-answers and vague confirmations. "guy's gotta have some secrets, huh?" The joke was biting to himself.

She said nothing, walking over to her ex-husband's throne. She heard Sans pad after her, heard the note of joints creak with his movements, the slight rhythm of his ribs rattling inside his jacket. She remembered back at the Ruins how he had walked on the stairs with her, so quietly, as inaudible as shadows. Perhaps this was rude of her, but she couldn't help but calculate how his defenses, hidden behind smiles, were quickly stripped away. Had it been the sight of the king's dust? Or her tears?

She placed both mantle and urn on the throne, the seat still quite big enough to hold another small monster. She turned abruptly to face Sans, arms down, hands clasped together.

"Is it a secret that you will be leaving now?"

Sans stared for a bit, clearing his throat of any stray pollen that lodged in his bones. "uh." His shrug was barely that, more like a hunch that gave up halfway. "secret's out, i guess?"

She continued. "Whoever was going after me will be at the Ruins. And you will be there to confront them."

Sans clearly didn't know how to answer any other way, and went with, "yeah?"

"That-" She looked to the urn, then back to her friend. "That doesn't sound very safe."

He lowered his head, avoiding her eyes. "probably not."

"That is very cruel of you, Sans."

He raised his eyes, their sockets widened, uncertainty as plain as the boney surface of his face.

It was her turn to look away. "To think that I can just stay here and not worry over you." Isn't that all she had ever done? Wait and wait, knowing the worst was yet to come, crippled by her own inability to prevent it? "Now that I can finally put a face to that dear voice, now that we have finally met… I must see you off already?"

Sans looked at her like she was suddenly speaking another language. His voice struggled, incomprehensible. "um, we… i, uh, that is, i was only…" He stopped to take a breath. "huh, geez, i mean, wow, this sounds bad, doesn't it?"

She only answered him with a brief nod.

He looked very small, as if a strong gust of wind could knock over his bones into a scattering pile. If she picked him up, would he weigh nothing, as incorporeal as the pollen floating around them?

Sans finally settled on an answer, and said with some shame, "just something i have to do." There was the echo of birds, chirping through the barrier, a perfect accompaniment to the garden expanse. "i owe my bro at least that much."

His eyes had gone dark again. She took a step forward. "Do you want to talk about it?"

The pain of losing someone was still fresh within her. It was built up by the loss of her children, every one of them; from her Asriel, to her little dancer that had snuck out of the Ruins one night. It was cut fresh by the recent loss of Asgore, remembering a time when she had loved him dearly. She could understand it well enough.

But Sans shook his head to her offer. "not really."

"Alright." She brought her hands up to her chest, still clasped together. "I just want you to be safe."

Sans jokingly pointed at her as he winked. "hey, me too."

There was so much unsaid, so much that _needed_ to be said. She could already feel Sans edging away. This had been hard for him, she realized. Hard for him to knock on her door and break routine, hard for him to take her hand, to show her the ashes of her past. Though he only gave hints on whatever terrible plague was upon them, it was, truly, the best he could do. And she could not fault him for that.

But she was an old lady full of desperation and regret. So she asked him, "Can I have your hands?"

She unclasped her claws, held them out before the skeleton, palms facing up. With so much patience, she waited.

Sans blinked slowly. He didn't precede her question with one of his own. Instead he pulled out one hand from his pocket, laying it in the center of her left paw. Metacarpals lightly sifted through fur, their density so hollow, their weight as light as dust.

She gave him a smile. "Both of them," she clarified.

Sans couldn't help his confusion, which paved the way for bluntness. "what?"

"Please."

After a moment, he followed through, his other hand joining in after a brief shuffle in his pocket. She saw the slip of a mitten sticking out from the jacket's confines.

Sans smiled back at her, though not without some trepidation. "well, uh, there you go?"

Looking down at him, she felt the threat of tears, her lungs shivering. She wondered how Sans could hold himself together so well, and envied him for it.

She saw his look of worry, and quickly brought both their hands close together before he could ask her anything. Soft magic filled their palms.

"Thank you," she whispered to him. Her words made the magic pulse. It was like the light of a newborn candle, flickering between their interlocked fingers, spilling out to the throne room around them. "I only wish that I could speak with you more, and continue to keep doing so."

Sans said nothing for a long while. He looked down at their hands, his own completely hidden within her grip. His fingers twitched, and with that, a response to her magic floated in that light, soft and soothing like falling rain.

The silence comforted them both, inviting her to speak again. "I know you cannot promise me you'll come back, no matter how much I wish you to. I… I only ask one thing of you."

She did not cherish being always left behind, nor being stranded away in the dark. But the children that had left her had been young, unheeding to their own fragility. And when she had been the one that left, it had been with bitterness and long-filled regret, all culminated in the urn that was set on the throne. But with Sans, there was none of that. The soul she felt was resolved, even in the knowledge of failure. Perhaps that was why letting him go felt so difficult.

"Be good, in everything that you do. I only ask this, a friend to a friend." She bowed her head slightly. "Be good, please, as you have been good to me."

She did not expect Sans to answer her, and he didn't at first. Until, after a moment or two, he shifted their hands, gripping hers back tightly. Very, very tightly. The sensation of nurturing rain grew stronger. Not like in Waterfall, but like the quiet storms back on the Surface, revitalizing her memories of the world underneath a grand, starry sky before a vicious war tore all that away.

Sans raised his head, his eyes clear.

"thanks, t."

He didn't let go just yet, and she was glad to keep their connection. Sans' grin was a mixture of emotions that should not be quite possible for most skeletons to show, but perhaps she was getting better at reading his face now.

"if everything works out, maybe we can grab a bite to eat, later?" He chuckled slightly, fingers tapping away at her palms almost playfully. "if that pie offer still stands?"

She grinned at him too, sharp fangs gleaming. Sans didn't turn away from her. His eyes even seemed to brighten when she did so. "I will make sure to always have a batch ready for you."

It was a long while before they both finally let go. It was even longer while Toriel stood there, staring at the spot that he had vanished from, alone again among the flowers and the weak sunshine.

* * *

_Sans remembers the house well-enough. He had made sure to, eyes scanning the interior to see where everything was. A long, empty picture frame above the stairs, a set of bookshelves next to the fireplace, and a warm armchair with that faint scent of pie crust. He keeps that vision in his head as he had told Toriel goodbye, extricating their hands from each other in a strangely painful way._

_It was her house that he finds himself at, vision heightened to sharpness as the coals of the fireplace glowed dimly, slippers placed on hardwood floors instead of well-packed soil. Keeping his magic in tune, he scanned the house again, finding no other movement. Good. It meant everything worked out._

_Now onto Step 2: Waiting._

_Sans had never been good at preparations, which means he wasn't prepared for the silence of the house. He had only been here before for a short while, too, yet even so, the memory of a kind voice was glaringly absent. It stuffs inside his skull, nearly making him abandon this plan. It's a pretty stupid plan to begin with, and if his notes were correct, it was probably not going to accomplish anything anyway._

_He goes over to the fireplace, taking one of the pokers stacked neatly in their stand, and sifts around the logs so that the still warm embers could sizzle and crackle back to life. With a little creativity, a small fire is burning, its soft sounds banishing away the fact that there was only that familiar emptiness now._

_It doesn't make him feel much better._

_He looks around the living room one more time, drawn to the warm autumn colors, vividly imagining the footsteps that must have made the floor creak in so many patterns. Eye sockets turn to the kitchen, a cozy little abode where everything is set neatly in its place – except for a rust-colored kettle next to the sink. The counter-top beside it is spotless, speaking to a certain monster's regard for using fire magic instead of gas-powered appliances. There is also the faint outline of a full pie tin in the oven, which would sadly be going to waste now._

_Oh, but that's right. She had given him something, didn't she?_

_The glass of milk is still there on the table, probably more tepid by now than the fusion of steaming warmness it had been before. Reflexively, he reaches out for it, taking a sip that actually seems to make things feel a bit easier, even though there was no way that was true. Heh, he's really way more sentimental than he thought he was. That's probably not a bad thing, all things considered._

_It is through no thought process of his own that he decides to sit at Toriel's armchair. It is plush, the soft fibers tingling with past magic of what must have been fire spells. He recognizes it. His hands still thrums from her touch, recalling her soul full of gratitude and longing that had matched so well with his own – and still does._

_His notes are lazy scrawls most of the time. The resets had made him more apathetic than usual, keeping them disorganized, their order diverting far off from the chronological way of things. But, he believes, in some other alternate timeline, he must have seen her like this before. It was very possible, wasn't it? In some other, closed-off future, had he asked to be invited into her home, to talk and share jokes face-to-face instead of through a door? And wouldn't he have kept any souvenirs if he did?_

_He looks toward the bookshelf, eyes lighting on the book spine that told silly stories about fanciful snails in medieval outfits. Yeah, just like that book kept in his basement, in that pile of objects from other lost timelines. What else did he lose back then? Maybe there was a reason he never wrote anything down about that…_

_He shifts slightly, and hears the crinkle of paper that he had stuffed inside his jacket pocket. Yeah, that. He had already read it, but he finds himself bringing it out after first placing the glass on the armrest. Unfolding the note from its square-shape, he reads the last message written for him from his brother, large and blocky letters back-dropped against an array of folded creases._

_It's hard for him to read the letters word-for-word. He had already done so back out in the snow in front of a permanently closed-off Grillby's. But he already has the gist of it. It's stuck there in his skull for the rest of his days to come, however long or little that may be. Just that-_

" _yeah, bro," Sans whispers to the air – a friendly air, because this home only has that, full of warm kindness that allows him to just let go in the only way he could. "i'll give 'em a chance, like you said you would try to do."_

_He closes his eyes, remembering that previous comfort. "i'll be good, too. or i'll try my best to be."_

_Tori would've really liked Papyrus._

_And just like that, he actually feels a little better. Just a little, but a little is more than enough._

_Which is good timing, because by then, he feels_ _**them** _ _on the move._

_He carefully folds up his brother's note, placing it back in his pocket, and goes back to drinking his milk. It's very warm, with a hint of sweetness to it. The old lady must've added some sugar or honey, and he's always had a terrible sweet tooth. It's the importance of the little things that makes his smile easy, that allows him to lean back, hearing the crackle of the fireplace, feeling calm as the ground underneath the house shifts, waiting for the weed to make its appearance._

_The glass is half-full now. The burrowing that he can hear reverberate in his skull is almost enough to fool him into thinking that it is own bones rattling inside his jacket. But no, he is still the same, sitting still by a comfortable fire, drinking warm milk, and smiling contently, the kind of smile one had after speaking with an old and trusted friend. He sits there and waits, and only briefly wonders if perhaps the flower might travel first to one of those rooms down the hallway. Maybe. He will wait here anyway if that's the case. It's not a section of the home that he has seen, and probably shouldn't. She hadn't invited him down there to look, even if the only reason was because of the lack of time._

_Holding up the glass, he lays his skull back against the soft cushion and watches calmly for the stem to slither up through the seams between the hardwood planks. And just like that, the flower is there, popping out of the floor like a dream. Its expression is not the same as in his notes; a simple sketch of a smiley face, uncanny despite its incredibly unrealistic nature. Instead, the flower's face is transformed, and brings him back to two different things; to a kid crying for help at the base of a cliff, floppy ears covering the sides of his head, the fur of his muzzle askew from his fall, but also an echo to someone else. Yeah, it's more than a family resemblance. The prince has her eyes, and his muzzle can mimic her smile very well. If it weren't for the lack of a soul, such an expression might not have seemed so hollow. It's too bad, really._

" _Mom!" the flower is calling out, but then its eyes light on Sans, and the face disappears. Though not before he saw its fear, something very real and genuine actually, before it is replaced by the flower's usual vacant but annoyed gaze. And maybe that's what sparks the bitterness in Sans' head. He still has his brother's note, and Toriel's plea is not an easy thing to forget. But. Still._

 _The problem with Sans is that, he is usually pretty terrible at keeping promises. It's the reason why he never really makes them in the first place. So he lets go for a second. It's too hard to_ not _be a jerk, and that's exactly what he is to Flowey, that little flower who had murdered almost all of his friends. But for Toriel, he keeps his word when it matters the most, and the flower only seems to listen to those with some muscle. In a way, his fooling around and exploding holes into walls is actually a bit necessary. He switches gears in the end. He does the abnormal, and tries something new._

Least I can't be blamed for lack of trying this time _, he thinks, just before he dies._

* * *

Seated by herself in the throne room, Toriel could admit that she had not been completely honest with Sans.

It was true that she worried over the flowers in the Ruins. For many years, she had tended to them, keeping their petals fresh, turning their stems toward what little sun there was. The light was just barely able to penetrate the Underground's darkness, but it was enough for them to grow in that small flower bed. She was not as skilled of a gardener as her husband… no, as the now passed King was, but she did her best, keeping them vital for as long as she could, careful to plant any stray seeds nearby, so that this community of golden petals could continue to flourish.

It was important to keep them tended, to keep the flower bed thick and soft, for it was there where the children would fall down. Every day, she would venture out of her home, traverse through the Ruins, solving the puzzles along the way. Every day, she would go check for any poor child that had fallen and give them proper care. And if none would show up, she would give that same care to the flowers.

In that time, six children had fallen down amidst a sea of shining petals. Six times she had cared for them, given them their proper nutrition, tucked them in for a good night's rest, and read them the stories from her own childhood, promising to provide them all the love they would ever need.

Six times she had lost them to her people's desperation, and to her husband's promise. Their beds would be empty in the morning, the doors out of the Ruins would be open, leading the way to snow and emptiness.

Only now could she admit to herself how hard it had been to keep going back to that flower bed, to both pray for a child to come and relieve her from despair, but also for them to not be there at all, knowing that their presence only guaranteed her more heartache, more pain. Each of their departures was another cut on her soul, a bitter reminder that she had failed to fulfill her own promise to herself. She was only fit to be a guardian of the Ruins, to protect crumbling rock – but never the life of an innocent child, no matter how hard she tried to keep them safe.

So when Sans came by, telling her of danger, and offering her a way out, she had given way to desperation. She had abandoned her duty so easily, taking his hand, secretly glad to go anywhere but the gaping emptiness that was her home. She had so many faults, even for an old lady that had witnessed her people's exile. It was just that, truth be told, she hadn't wanted to be alone anymore.

Yet here she was, on her throne back at New Home, the heavy, but familiar crown on her head. Her home was still empty, and Sans was nowhere to be found. Once again, she was alone, with only the golden flowers to keep her company, and the weight of her diary in her hands.

Queen Toriel had only taken over the ruling of the Underground for a few weeks, but already she immersed herself in her duties, helping grieving families cope, employing those who could find more clues as to what monster of their own could be so cruel as to leave a path of dust in their journey. Her people took to her well, looking to her with hope, like a legend brought back to life after the death of their beloved king. Only a few remembered her initial ruling days, such as the old merchant, Gerson. And it was he who had told her all the details of the massacre, of witness accounts of some strange never-before-seen creature that seemed to crawl across the ground and destroy anything that got in its way.

With a calm voice and a steady mind, she had initiated new projects to make the Underground bearable again. A new school for the children, weekly bake sales to lift spirits and raise funds, and proper training of the Royal Guard, where new recruits showed up daily. She was not a violent one, but she knew that the people would feel better about having some sort of security. There was one other policy she wanted to enact; to not harm humans that have fallen into the Underground. Yet with the recent tragedy, and a plethora of other tasks she had on her hands, she decided to hold off on that for now.

It was after a day of such strenuous tasks, after waving goodbye to Gerson, her new advisor, that she finally had the time to write in her diary. She had left it in Asgore's room on her first day, and had not had the strength to go to it, to write in her diary that her dear friend, Sans, had left.

Among the flowers and the dying sunlight, she held the diary in stiff paws. She wondered briefly if the jokes jotted down in there would still seem funny to her. Already she was smiling, and as she went to lift open the cover, she finally noticed something odd.

In her diary, stuffed between the pages, was a bookmark.

It was not one she recognized. The bookmark was a slip of paper that was designed like a woodprint carving of mollusks. It was very finely detailed; whoever had drawn on it had done so with care, making up for the lack of talent, mostly. The shell of the mollusk was too big, and her deep knowledge of the Gastropoda species let her know that the antennae never numbered more than two. But the quarter-pronged creature was still a delight to look at. Even with the other, quite obvious fanciful features added to it. (Did that slug have six-wheels?)

The bookmark pointed down at a new entry in her diary, one she had not written. In small print, slightly cramped, but still easy to read.

_heya, tori._

_hope you don't mind the breach of privacy, but i didn't take any peek at other pages. sentry's honor and all that. oh, and hope you like the gift. you told me your favorite things were reading and snails, so here's the best of both worlds. uh, snails have rocket-powered shells, right? only seems natural._

_okay, i don't have much time before you come back from your packing so i'll just say it._

_i don't make good decisions usually. more than usually. and one of those not-good decisions is coming for us, because i don't really have the, uh, forethought to think of something better. i tend to take the easy way out of responsibilities. just ask my… well, no, you can't do that, because of those not-good decisions. see? karma's an old friend of mine, and i can't do much but let it sleep on the couch and hope it'll go away on its own. sorry, getting sidetracked._

_just, i wanted to make a good decision. for once, this one time, even if it doesn't mean anything. and maybe it's not a good decision anyway, and it'll just turn around into an all-out bad time, but, well, there aren't many alternatives. and tori, you're the last good thing around. it's not fair to let you down like i did everyone else. so, if i can save a friend, maybe karma won't keep crashing at my place all the time. because you really are the best audience i ever had, and the world needs good audiences._

_that and you have a really nice laugh._

_okay that came out creepier than i meant it to, but, it's true? in a non-creepy way, really. but you do. you really do, and just hearing it makes all this easier._

_see ya on the other side._

_-sans_

Toriel remained seated, staring at that abrupt end, left hanging like a lonely fishing line. He could say things that warmed her heart, and yet keep everything shadowed. But still, was he not more honest than she ever was?

Out of the corner of her eye, she saw something move.

Toriel stood up suddenly, closing the diary with one paw while extending out the other. Wisps of fire flickered around her, casting shadows on her face. She would not be so careless as to burn away her departed king's work, but her magic could be manipulated to fight off her threat alone. She had not lied to Sans about that. She could defend herself if need be.

The figure moved again, but it wasn't really a figure. A simplistic face turned to her, upheld by a thin stem, situated in the center of the flower garden. Petals adorned its face, both wilted and dull.

The spells to her magic fell uselessly from her mind. She lowered her hand, remaining silent. Just barely could she hear the flower. It made a continuous sound, repetitive, and breathless. "Excuse me-" she started, taking a step forward.

The flower's eyes widened, then retreated into the ground. Toriel remained where she was, listening to nothing else now but the faint distant echo of chirping birds.

She wasn't stunned by the fact that she had met a sentient flower, and that it had left as quickly as it came. No.

It was the fact that she had never seen a flower cry before.


End file.
